The Lone Mercenary
by TurtleArmy
Summary: "Any good hearted person would stop the muties from harming those poor men,"..." man, am I glad I'm no hero." The Lone Mercenary Evil, cruel, heartless. The Lone Mercenary Witty, charismatic, gentleman. The Lone Mercenary Sadistic, murderer, psychopath. The Lone Mercenary Helpful, hard-working, a good man. Who is Owen Jones, and why does everyone want him dead?


_War. War never changes._

_When nuclear bombs decimated the Earth's surface in 2077, the world changed forever._

_Civilization collapsed, society fell apart and governments crumbled, sending the world into a lawless, barren, near-inhospitable place._

_Two-hundred years on, and the basic instincts of mankind have not changed one bit, even if their hunting ground has. Humankind still eat, sleep, drink, have sex, get high and kill, and the Capital Wasteland is the perfect place for all of those things._

_In the midst of all this, a lone mercenary - haunted by his past and plagued with guilt over the grave deeds he's done – tries to make his way through life as a gun for hire. But when his past makes itself present, he faces a backlash that cracks his mere existence and threatens his future. _

_As the Enclave close in on his elite squad of mercenaries, he's forced to team up with the Brotherhood of Steel to prevent a fate worse than his own, but at what cost will the protection of the world he lives in come to?_

**10:01 **

**Tuesday**

**2nd July**

**2277**

**Executive Suite**

**Tenpenny Tower**

**The South-West **

**The Capital Wasteland**

Owen woke to light flooding the room. Slowly, he opened his eyes to the impairing light. Although his vision was blurred, he was just able to make out who'd disturbed him.

"Handy," Owen groaned in his Virginian accent "what the hell are you doing? It's only half-six."

"Actually, sir," the robot chirped in its posh voice "I'm delighted to announce that it is actually ten 'o' clock!"

"What?" Owen grumbled in a drowsy voice. He looked at his Pip-Boy that was lying on his bedside table. Realising that the robot was right, he sunk back under the covers.

"Wake up sir!" Handy boomed happily "it's a lovely day out there!"

"If a `lovely` day is getting shot up by raiders and having radiation cook my brain, then I'd hate to see a bad day…" Owen grumbled, slowly sliding his feet off the bed.

"If you look at it in the right way then every day can be fabulous," the robot announced.

"Really?" the man yawned "and I'm guessing that the `right way` is behind a blindfold, no doubt."

"What was I thinking, expecting a Mercenary to be interested in natural beauty?" Handy muttered as he hovered off to attend to other duties.

Owen dragged himself over to his full body mirror on the wall. Still in a slightly dreamy haze, he examined his features: white skin, blue eyes, dark brown hair, stubble on chin, above/around his mouth and sideburns, thin lips, muscly build, dark blue plaid dressing gown.

He stretched his arms and yawned once more, before walking onto the balcony. He observed the desolate landscape below him, the craters and rubble blankly starring back at him.

"Any plans for today, sir?" Handy asked joyfully from behind him.

"Yeah," Owen replied, turning his back on the Virginian _countryside_ "I'm going to Underworld to look into some Ghoul named Charon, meant to be a good shot. I could use some backup after that business in DC with those muties and that tribe of raiders."

"Indeed sir, it took me five hours to remove that bullet from your shoulder." Handy agreed.

"Suppose I should get a move on." Owen muttered under his breath, and with that, he closed the balcony doors and went to get changed.

"Handy," Owen sighed, pressing the button on the lift "if there's any intruders-"

"Yes sir, I know, I know," the robot interrupted, exasperated "stun them if possible but kill if I must, you've been through it hundreds of times, I'm not a simpleton."

"You could've fooled me," the mercenary smirked, stepping into the lift, giving a provocative wave as the doors closed.

**16:48**

**The Mall**

**The East**

**The Capital Wasteland**

After hours of walking, Owen finally kicked open a chain gate. He wasn't surprised by the sound of gunfire and shouting, not after what he'd heard about the Mall, as well as his own few experiences with DC. The place was a warzone, death and destruction equal in the high amount dished out. Talon Company, the Brotherhood of Steel and the super mutants fought over territory and resources on a daily basis, with high casualty counts still rising. Even the feeble minded raiders knew to stay away from here if they wanted their lives.

Without warning, a grenade bounced, and landed at the top of the stairs. Owen dived back into the metro tunnel, avoiding the explosion. Cautiously, he opened the chain gate to find the top of the stairs destroyed, and part of the concrete next to him blown to pieces.

Whilst crouching, Owen climbed what remained of the steps, attempting to get a viewpoint of what was going on. Sticking his head round, his eyes met the repugnant sight of a battle. Three super mutants were fighting seven Talon Company mercs. One of the mutants had a chaingun, and was pinning four of the mercs behind a fallen pillar. The other three were crouching behind a large pile of rubble, about a metre across from the pillar, with two super mutants firing upon them with assault rifles.

"Any good hearted person would stop the muties from harming those poor men," Owen murmured "man, am I glad I'm no hero."

Just to be on the safe side, he pulled out a smoke grenade from his trench coat, proceeding to pull the pin and roll the grenade in the direction of the fight. With a small detonation, smoke erupted across both factions. The sound of guns and grenades was exchanged with a cacophony of coughing, spluttering and shouts of confusion and distress. In the same moment, Owen ran across the crumbling concrete in a crouched position, wary of any other foes that may present themselves.

As he reached a wall, he paused for a moment to collect himself. He stood with his back to the wall, listening for any signs of life behind the corner to his right. He heard footsteps followed by a quiet, gruff voice. The mercenary pulled out two revolvers from their holsters, before jumping round the corner, his guns trained on the figure round the corner.

"Whoa, cool it smooth-skin," a red-haired (just) Ghoul wearing leather armour exclaimed "I ain't gonna hurt 'ya."

"Who the hell are you?!" Owen snarled, his guns trained on her.

"And that's about as friendly as you lot get," the Ghoul muttered to herself, as if no-one was there "I'm Willow, guardian of Underworld, and if you don't get away from that corner, you're going to be Mr-I've-got-a-bullet-through-my-brain."

"Closer to you?" Owen spat.

"Well, who'd you rather be closer to, me or those mutants?" Willow asked.

"Fair point," Owen gave in "what even is a `guardian of the Underworld`?"

"Not the Underworld, you moron, just Underworld." Willow growled "and it's a job designed to keep assholes like you at bay."

"Asshole or not, you can't stop me from going in," the mercenary growled.

His cold eyes penetrated her, deduced her, read her. He studied her leather armour and boots, her facial expressions, her stance, everything about her. She did the same to him, but not with such ease, but she came to her conclusion.

"Alright," she said "you go in there, you keep your mouth shut, and your gun holstered. Got it?"

"Yeah, I got it," Owen confirmed, his body going rigid with tension as he passed her.


End file.
